Starlit Night
by VanillaLime
Summary: Roselle is a ballerina who just moved into the opera house for family reasons, being a cousin of Meg's. Roselle has a saucy personality and is always worried about her appearance. Will an accident change the way she thinks about the world around her? EOC
1. Chapter 1

**Change in Spirit**

_Not too sure about that title. Kind of just put it on so I could save. Oh well, I sort of like it! Okay here it goes..._

"I saw him, and I even went down to his liar!"

Meg Giry was still continuing to tell her tale of the Opera Ghost. It's been almost a year since that incident of the falling chandelier occurred and although most of the talk of him has ceased, no one had forgotten him. Roselle, having moved in from the suburbs, was hearing the story for the first time.

"And he wears a mask, to hide his deformity. That night he took Christine, and they fell down into a trapped door."

Roselle was quickly drawn into her cousin's story. "What did she do, nothing? If I were her I'd fight him, and he'd be sorry he messed with me!"

"No she did none of that I'm afraid. She was scared."

"I'm not afraid of him." Roselle clenched her fist.

Meg chuckled at her cousin's reaction. "You should. But there's nothing to fear now. He's gone. Probably dead."

"How?"

"He hasn't been seen since."

A moment of silence occurred, and both were preoccupied in other things. Roselle was eyeing her hands, Meg running her fingers along her golden hair. Roselle quickly grew heavy eyed, and so announced she was going to bed. Meg agreed that she should too, and they went their separate ways.

Roselle crossed the hall to her room. It was late into the night and all the oil lanterns were dimly lit, revealing dancing shadows upon the walls. Roselle's room was close to the stage entrance, and she paused by her doorway, staring into the dark corridor. There she stood, recollecting her thoughts, and finally decided to venture into the black abyss.

Although she could see nothing, she was aware that she was on the stage. Feeling sure she was alone, she began to sing.

"Wishing on a dream that seems far off,

Hoping it will come today…

Into the starlit night,

Foolish dreamers turn their gaze,

Waiting on a shooting star…"

Her voice was sweet and melodic, and was soft enough not to disturb those in slumber, but loud enough to catch a certain someone's ear.

_That's the first chapter! Ya, it's kinda short._

_Oh, and as for that song, I didn't write that just so you know. Copyright goes to those Lunar games. I know, video games. Hey, what can I say, I like them, but not as much as my brother. I chose this song 'cause I know it by heart, and always sing it in the shower. It's also a touching song that sort of fits the Phantom._


	2. Chapter 2

_Well, after much thought, I've decided to change the title to 'Starlit Night', not 'Change in Spirit'. Think it makes more sense, since the song will play an important role in the story. So okay, here goes the second chapter..._

Erik was taking his usual stroll around the opera house. He did this every night, trying to imagine Christine singing on stage. The Paris Opera House lacked a diva now since Christine left with Raoul, and Carlotta, distressed about the death of Piangi, could not stand to stay, for the place bared too many memories of him. No one had replaced them, and so all that was heard was the tapping of shoes, and melodies sung by the chorus girls. None, I might add, had a talent well enough for Erik's taste.

The seats around the stage were still not fully replaced from the fire, so there were no performances being held. Still, the ballet rehearsed everyday, preparing for the reopening. Madame Giry kept on as the dance instructor, her daughter Meg still an aspiring ballerina. Andre and Firman, the former managers, claimed that running the place was too stressful, and so sold it to a wealthy entrepreneur by the name of Eustache Beauvais. He had no trouble with the Opera Ghost, for Erik had no energy to deal with the fuss, if people had found out he was still around.

Erik's thoughts were interrupted once he heard Roselle, and so he halted. His passion for singing indulged him to get a closer look. He crept behind a stage prop close by.

"But, what if that star is not to come,

Will their dreams fade to nothing?

When the horizon darkens most,

We all need to believe there is hope…"

Intent on seeing the girl's face, he tried to turn his head silently, but failed. He bumped his head against the stage prop, giving out a faint thud.

Roselle immediately heard and responded with a quick, "Who's there?"

No reply came forth.

"Don't pretend you're not there. I know you're here!" cried she. "Reveal yourself! Or I shall find you!" She pinpointed the exact location where the intruder hid and made her way to him, feeling through the darkness.

Erik could sense her footsteps drawing closer. He knew he couldn't escape, since the only exit was the one she blocked, so he spoke. "No need to get flustered. I was just listening to your singing. It sounds nice, but not enough vibrato for opera."

"Who said you can criticize my singing? I'm not a professional anyway, for I'm just a dancer!" snapped Roselle, quite annoyed of the stranger. "Who are you!"

Shaken with the girl's tone, he responded sarcastically, "There's no need for you to know."

"That's not a good enough answer!" Her face began to redden. "Well?"

She received no response.

Suddenly the story of the Phantom entered Roselle's mind. "You need not to reply, for I already know who you are. You cannot fool me. You're the Opera Ghost!"

Erik was stunned she drew up such a conclusion. Did he give her any clues? Still, he remained silent.

Roselle was satisfied with the lack of response. She knew he was what she claimed him to be. "Yes, I know who you are, and I know what you've done. You sure have made a mess of things, killing innocent lives and ruining the stage. Look at those seats, smoldered by the fire! Oh and that poor Christine!"

'Christine…' Erik could feel his throat swallowing his tears. He pulled at the ring on his finger, the one Christine have given him right before she left with Raoul. His mind was in a battle with two emotions, one of sorrow, the other of anger. His anger side would soon take over.

"Good thing Raoul had saved her in time!" She continued. "Or she would have been miserable being left with you! Such an uncivilized being you are, and hideous at that!"

Erik's hands were pleading to strangle the girl's neck, and his teeth gritted against each other. Was she there the night of Duan Juan Triumphant? How can she judge him like that, not knowing him at all? Bringing up Christine with Raoul added more to his anger. Roselle spoke as if Christine had no love for Erik at all. How could she say such things? He tried hard to calm himself down, and succeeded, becoming less tense.

Still, Roselle's sassy tongue would not quit. "I have mind to report you to Manager Beauvais! And I will, believe me, I will, and he'll get rid you!"

Erik couldn't allow that. His home had already been discovered before, and he could not allow them to take it away from him. "I think it best if you keep this between you and me," he said in a rough voice, "Or you shall the suffer the consequences."

"I'm not afraid of you. You think that threat works? Well think again!" She had become impatient with Erik, and so marched away, heading to her bedroom, not forgetting to remind Erik that he will be reported.

Erik stayed behind the stage prop, utterly disgusted with the girl's behavior, and yet, surprised with her fearlessness. His words were only a threat and nothing else. He wasn't actually planning to harm her, because he vowed to himself he would never harm again, and he intended on keeping that vow.

After a few moments of meditation, Erik left the stage and made his way through the black down into his liar, where he was greeted by the illumination of candles. From there he dragged his feet up the stone steps into his bedroom, fearing that this was going to be one of his last nights in his home, not doubting that Roselle will keep her word.


	3. Chapter 3

Roselle sprang from her bed, having been awakened by the golden beams of dawn. "What time is it?" she mumbled to herself, placing her feet on the cold floor. She glanced up at the wooden clock. "Eight? There must not be ballet practices today. Surely Madame Giry would've got me up by now." Roselle arose from bed, heading for her dressing room. Once there she opened the wardrobe, which held only a few nice dresses, the rest old and musty. Knowing that she will pay a visit to the manager today, she decided to wear the emerald green one, believing it matched her eyes.

After she put it on she went to the mirror. "I guess it's good enough." In her hands she clutched a brush, now making use of it. As she fixed her hair, she began to sing.

Meanwhile Erik was wide-awake as well, crossing the lake in his gondola. In his mind he thought about Christine. It was rare for him not to think of Christine, and flashbacks of her constantly played in his head. Everywhere he went, she was there. Her in the swan bed, her on the stage, even her sitting by his feet, looking down at the reflection in the water. He could not escape from those memories!

Christine was the purpose he decided to venture out to her old dressing room, realizing the other day someone else's clothes lying about. Erik wanted to find out who was the new user of the room.

As he climbed up the stairs, he recalled when he first brought his angel down to his liar. Her eyes were wide with curiosity, and Erik frequently looked back at her, making sure he wasn't dreaming. He kept replaying this image, until a voice broke his train of thought.

'What will fill this emptiness inside of me?'

'Am I to be satisfied without no we?"

"It can't be…not her!" Erik quickened his pace, remembering the girl who insulted him last night. He arrived at the mirror, and, right in front of him, stood a beautiful girl, her green, tranquil eyes seeming to peer right through him. Erik gazed with astonishment, not believing that such a girl could possess such an ill temper. He admired her slim body, giving off an hourglass shape, and her hair cascading beyond her shoulders, curling at the ends. Her figure was flawless, even superior to Christine's…no, what was he thinking? He scolded himself for such thoughts. How dare he compare her to Christine. No one can ever compare to Christine, especially not this girl, with such a saucy attitude.

Roselle, oblivious to the fact that the Opera Ghost was right behind the mirror, kept on singing.

'I wish then, for a chance to see,

Now all I need…

_Desperately,_

Is my star to come?'

She wrestled with her hair to keep it up, almost succeeding, but some thick strands of hair fell out of place. After enduring a few seconds of struggling, she gave up, deciding to pull her long bangs back with a bow. As she did this, she began to talk to herself.

"I do hope Manager Beauvais is in the building. We certainly must not have a lunatic running about."

She smiled at her appearance. "You are a pretty one."

Erik glared at her, repulsed by her snobbish behavior.

She turned around, looking at herself in different angles, making sure she looked perfect. She gently patted her frock, trying to abolish the stubborn ruffles. It seemed that she still had Erik in her mind, for she mentioned him again. "Who knows, he could be wandering about right now, maybe even in the same room."

Hearing this, Erik slowly backed away.

"Didn't cousin Meg say he took Christine behind a mirror?" She placed her hands against the mirror, as if expecting a secret passage lying behind it.

Erik grew tense, ready to disappear into the shadows.

But Roselle did not attempt to open it. Instead she started for a different direction; grabbing a pair of brown leather Victorian boots, and sitting down to put them on. She tied them tight, and afterwards walked out of the door.

Disappointed with the new owner of the dressing room, Erik left with a frown, going back to his layer. He had to figure out an escape, in case the police decide to raid his house once again.

_R&R Plz! If you have any suggestions please tell me!_


	4. Chapter 4

"Oh there you are Roselle!" Meg caught up with Roselle in the hall. "A good sleep I hope."

"I suppose."

Meg skimmed her eyes down Roselle's green dress. "Oh and you look so dressed up! Are you going somewhere?"

"Yes. I need to speak with Manager Beauvais."

"Manager Beauvais? What for?"

They got out of the hallway and into the stage area. "Just a little business to attend to. Do you know where he is right now?"

"No, but ask my mother, she knows."

Right after she said that, Roselle ran ahead of her and went to Madame Giry's office. As Roselle suspected, Madame Giry was there, facing the window.

"Madame Giry?"

She turned around. "What is it Roselle?"

"I need to speak to the manager. Is he here?"

"No, he has a day off today."

Roselle couldn't wait another day to see him. "Where do you think he may be?"

"And why are you so urgent to see him?" Madame Giry replied, taking a seat by her desk.

"Business, that is all," she answered, weary of answering the same questions.

"And what business is it?"

"And what business do you have to know?"

Madame Giry, insulted with her niece's answer, responded, "Well Manager Beauvais is probably at home right now."

Roselle headed for the door.

"And Roselle," Madame Giry continued, "Don't talk to me that way again, you understand?"

Roselle gave no reply, and was out the door.

Outside it was a warm day, with a slight breeze. Every now and then some leaves would twirl about, as if they were dancing. The trees along the sidewalks have already turned colors of crimson reds and fiery oranges, and each passing day grew shorter. Roselle hadn't been out since she first arrived at the Opera Populaire, and on that day the sky was gray and crying. She closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth.

"Mademoiselle," said a man walking by. "You must be the new dancer."

"Yes, that is me."

He put out his hand. "Nice to meet you."

Roselle shook his hand. "You too."

"Name's Alain."

"Roselle."

Meetings like this occurred frequently as she headed to the stable. Usually they were men, probably single, wanting to know the new pretty face.

Before Roselle got to the stable, she was interrupted with yet another man.

"Where are you heading, mademoiselle?"

"The stable, where else?" she answered.

"I'm sorry, but the driver isn't there right now. He'll be back shortly."

"And when is that?"

"I don't know. A few minutes or so."

"I don't have time for this," she muttered, and walked towards the stable.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you!" the man called out. "Come back here!" He watched as Roselle entered the stable, debating in his mind if he should go after her.

"Who are you shouting to?" It was the driver, and in his hand was some bread.

"A lady," he pointed at the stable. "She just went in there!"

"Now why would she do a thing like that? Does she know…"

At that moment an ear-wrenching screech was heard, slowly dying away.

Both of the men exchanged terrifying glances with each other, and dashed to the stable.


	5. Chapter 5

Roselle woke up, surrounded by nurses and her two family members, Meg and Madame Giry. "Where am I?" She was in a white room, with wooden borders, and was lying on a bed with a brass headboard.

"You're up!" exclaimed Meg. "You've been unconscious for two days! I was so worried."

"I've what!" Roselle jolted up from bed. Her head was aching with pain.

Madame Giry nudged her shoulder, signaling her to lay back down. "You are in the hospital Roselle, and it is true, you have been unconscious for two days."

Roselle tried to remember what happened before everything went black. "And what happened to that beast?"

"The horse?" said her aunt. "You do not have to worry about it. The horse has been taken care of."

"I do hope they did something terrible to it," she said to herself. Her face was soar, and so she placed her palm on her cheek to try to soothe the pain. Instead of feeling her warm flesh, she felt coarse bandages. "What happened to my face!"

The nurse answered her question. "No need to worry, you are fine, although there may by a slight deformity on the left side of your face."

Madame Giry gave the nurse a quick cold glance.

"Well, actually, you're whole left side is deformed," the nurse said hastily.

"What! I don't believe this!" shouted Roselle, worried about the frightening outcome. "Take these bandages off! I demand to see my face!"

The nurse looked fearfully at Madame Giry, which replied with a nod. "Okay, but there might be some bleeding." She picked up some scissors and cut the white bonds from the back of Roselle's head, careful of not taking out any hair. The bandages fell off, and she handed her a mirror.

Roselle's eyes widened as she looked into the mirror. What stared back at her was a monster, with a bulging eye, red patches of skin, and a bright red lip seeming to be pulled sideways by an invisible hand. In many places the skin pigment was of a dark blue, and half of the nose looked as if someone had squished it. Horrified, Roselle swung the mirror against the wall, breaking it, and started to cry. "Why do bad things always happen to me!" she said under salty tears. The tears stung her cheeks.

"It's okay!" reassured Meg, shuddering at her cousin's appearance. She took Roselle's hand, but Roselle pulled away from her.

"No it isn't okay!" she cried. "Look at me! I'm a hideous creature! My beauty is lost forever!"

Madame Giry had just about enough of Roselle's tantrum. "Stop crying, the world isn't over! The nurses worked hard to keep you alive, and look how you give thanks to them, by breaking their mirrors!"

Roselle ignored her, crying uncontrollably.

This made matters worse because Madame Giry dragged Roselle out of bed and out of the door, Meg following behind her. "We're going home right now." That was all she said for the remainder of the ride home. Even Meg, uncomfortable with the situation, kept quiet. The only thing that was heard in the carriage was the clanking of the horse's hoofs against the cobble road and the gentle whimpers of Roselle.

_So Roselle is now deformed from a horse. If you think that is impossible, think again. A week ago or so I saw someone on ET (No, not that alien movie, but entertainment tonight or insider) who had half her messed up from her horse. :( _

_Lucky for her, there's such a thing called plastic surgery._


	6. Chapter 6

Madame Giry and Roselle walked into the dressing room after finishing a discussion with Manager Beauvais. Both held frowns, but half of Roselle's frown was hidden behind her bangs.

Madame Giry seated Roselle on a chair by the vanity table. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Roselle did not speak a word, but looked down; her face was emotionless.

"I know you wanted to become a great ballerina someday," continued her aunt. "It's unfortunate the manager won't let you perform. Perhaps there is another opera house you could practice in."

Roselle lifted her head, glaring at Madame Giry. Only one eye glared, for the other one was hiding, as if ashamed of its appearance. "No one wants me," she said under gritted teeth. "I'm too hideous. People cower from me. My dancing career is over." She took her eyes away from Madame Giry. "Over…"

Madame Giry did not respond to this. Instead she pulled away Roselle's silky bangs from her face, and tucked them behind the ears, revealing her deformity. "Is there anything you need Roselle?"

Roselle squinted. "My head still aches." She looked up at Madame Giry. "Perhaps some wine will ease the pain?"

Madame Giry sighed. "I guess, if it will help ease the pain." She exited the room, entering a few minutes later with a bottle of wine and a small glass set on a tray. She placed the tray on the vanity table and popped the cork from the bottle. "How much do you want?"

"Just leave it here, I will help myself."

Madame Giry held the bottle for a few moments, debating in her mind if she should leave the wine in Roselle's hands.

"Please, just set it down on the tray," said her niece impatiently.

"Well alright," Madame Giry responded, putting the bottle down. "But I don't want to come in her and find you drunk, you understand?"

Roselle answered by making a swatting motion with her hand.

Madame Giry picked up the signal and headed for the door, closing it behind her.

Roselle poured herself a glass, and before she knew it she had more than she could handle. The room around her seemed to spin, and she felt queasy. She looked around, a tiresome expression on her face. Her eyes stopped at the mirror.

There it was, that monster staring back at her. Roselle's eyes suddenly fumed with anger. She grabbed a candleholder, disposing the white candle, and trudged towards the mirror, her body swaying back and forth. Her reflection seemed to grin, mocking her. Roselle's face was diabolical as she made her way to the mirror.

The mirror now stood in front of her. She held the candleholder in batting position. "Be gone you wretched creature!" she cried desperately, vigorously swinging at the mirror, longing to rid her repulsive complexion. The room was filled with the sound of shattering glass. All that was left of the mirror was the antique frame and some shards of glass, eagerly clinging on to the edges. What lied beyond that was black, beckoning Roselle to venture in it.

Not knowing exactly what she was doing, Roselle went through the mirror, scraping her arm against a sharp piece of glass. Although blood dripped down her arm, Roselle did not take notice. She staggered through the passage way to the stairs. She leant herself against the cold stone wall as she went down, stumbling on some of the steps.

On the level ground she gazed ahead, not really looking at anything. She just kept going on, oblivious to the fact that there was water beyond her. When the water was only one step in front of her, she did not halt. She slipped into the murky water, banging her head against the rough shore, leaving her knocked out as well as leaving a gash on her forehead.

And there she floated, looking like a dead corpse, the current taking her away from the dark corridor.

_Okay, finally the story's going somewhere. I'm not sure, but I heard somewhere that a long time ago people drank some wine when they were ailing. Think I got that from Wuthering Heights. But anyways, I hope this chapter sounds believable._


	7. Chapter 7

In the liar Erik was playing a tune on his organ. It was a sorrowful tune, with a haunting sound to it. The melody exactly portrayed his pain. He poured his soul into all his music, and anyone who listened to it was easily memorized by it. That's what was magical about Erik's music.

After a while he stopped playing and got up. He looked out towards the gates and noticed something behind it. A pale body dressed with a red velvet dress was floating up against the gate. Her hair was brown with hints of red between the strands.

'Christine? Could it be her?' Erik opened the gate and plodded through the water towards the body. As he came closer he realized it wasn't Christine, for although the girl had the same hair color, she had no curls. Instead her hair was straight.

Disheartened, Erik came up to the body. He could not see her face since it was covered by her bangs. 'I can't just leave her here,' he thought, picking her up. Water soaked his white shirt as he went up to his bedroom, stopping in front of the swan bed and putting her down on the ground. He checked her pulse. 'Still alive.' His hand was red. 'And she's bleeding.' He went to fetch something to wash the girl's wounds. He tore a piece of cloth from a costume.

He came back and started to clean her left arm. After that was done he pulled her bangs away, first pulling away her strands from the right side.

"Her again!" He pushed her away from him. "What is she doing here?" He eyed the deep gash on her forehead. Blood was streaming down her cheeks. He didn't know what to do. Should he help the girl who mocked him before? She seemed different. Her face was peaceful, and without her thrusting her tongue she seemed angelic. 'I can't just leave her here in this condition,' Erik concluded after much thought.

He wiped the blood from her cheek, and proceeded on brushing away the bangs from her left side. His eyes grew wide as he discovered what lied behind the bangs. His hand froze. "Wh…What happened? Her face…" He scanned her features, comparing the deformity with his. Unlike his, her face was still plump, and did not resemble that of a skeleton. It seemed as though some magical hand was messing around with the nose, eye, and lips. Her skin pigment was red in some places and blue in others from the broken flesh. Erik just stood there in awe. Never in all his life has he seen someone else with such a deformity.

Roselle slowly began to regain consciousness. Her eyes opened to little slits. Erik wanted to flee, but it was too late.

"You!" She shuddered. "How dare you touch me! Get away from me!" She tried to push Erik away from her but he stayed where he was, so instead she backed away from him.

Erik stood up, his arms crossed. "And that's how you give thanks to the man who saved your life?" He thrust the blood-drenched cloth at her. She knocked the cloth away from her with her arm.

"You should've left me at the bottom of the lake. I would rather die than have to live in this world with this horrid complexion!" After this was said she sank down and buried her face in her arms, quietly crying to herself.

Erik was still standing where he was, watching Roselle. He pitied her, and this was the first time he felt sorry for anyone else besides himself. There, in front of him was this girl who, the other day was a rare beauty, and now, was as ugly as he. He couldn't imagine being handsome and then lose it all before his very eyes. He truly felt sorry for her.

Roselle lifted her head and noticed that Erik was still there. She scowled. "Why are you still here! I told you to get away from me!"

"Well I'll go away, but it's not because you told me to." Erik was now by the entrance way to the bedroom. "Do remember who's house this is." He stole one last look at her. She was cross, her eyes flickering with anger. Her cheeks were moist from tears. He turned his head away from her and went down the stairs.

When Roselle was sure Erik was off the stairs, she resumed crying, until she lulled herself to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

_Thanks for the reveiws! They are greatly apreciated _:)

_I'm going to Canada and Niagara Falls really soon, so I'm not sure I will finish the next chapter until I return home next week. But I'm still really excited about going on vacation _(>',' )> (_It's so hard to find a face that actually works on this format)_

_So anyways, here's another chapter-_

For one day Erik avoided seeing Roselle. He left the gate open, expecting she would try to escape, but she never left his bedroom. He knew she was in there, because he would hear from her the song she sung the night they first met. 'Why would she ever sing in a situation like this?' he constantly thought as he paced back and forth between the candles. 'She sure has an odd way of acting in times of distress.'

Finally Erik decided to get Roselle to eat something. With a tray of chicken and wine, he entered the bedroom. He found Roselle in the swan bed, reading one of his books. Roselle was the first one to speak.

"What are you doing here?" she said while eyeing the tray. "Oh, I see. You want me to eat something, is that it?" She threw his book on the floor. "Well I'll never eat anything from you, you ugly gargoyle!"

"It seems we both are ugly gargoyles now," he responded, quite irritated with how she treated his property. "But the only difference my dear, is that you're distortion lies inside and out!" He found himself repeating what Christine had said to him the night they parted.

Roselle's face reddened with anger when he said this. She desperately tried to find a better comeback, but the only thing she came up with was, "How dare you call me _dear_."

Feeling that he had won the battle, Erik left the tray of food on the floor and exited the room.

He returned a day later to his sleeping chamber and found that Roselle had kept her word. The food was not touched. He glanced at Roselle. She had changed dramatically since he last saw her. She was pale, and very weak. She looked at Erik with blood shot eyes, seeming to find interest with his hand.

"Isn't that ring a little girlish for you?" she said in a frail but sassy voice. "Hmph, you probably don't have any fashion sense. I wouldn't be surprised if you had stolen it."

Erik, vexed from being mocked because of his most precious keepsake, responded under gritted teeth, "Someone special gave me this ring."

"Oh, Christine?" Roselle stood up, her weak knees causing her to gently sway. "She only gave you that ring because she pitied you!" She could sense Erik's anger heightening. "That's right, she only pitied you, nothing else!"

Before she knew it Erik had taken hold of her wrist. "How dare you say that!" he roared. "She loved me!"

Roselle laughed at this. "If she loved you so much, than why did she leave with Raoul?"

Erik did not reply to this. He glared coldly at her, his hazel eyes fuming with an intense ferocity as he tightened his grip on her wrist.

The pain started to cease her arm. "Release my hand at once!"

Erik did not obey, but instead tightened his grip. Her hand was beginning to turn white.

Roselle struggled to break free. She tried clawing her way out with her other hand, but that plan failed, and so she started gnawing at his hand with her teeth, breaking his skin.

Erik winced, but did not let go. The blood from his hand dripped down on Roselle's numb hand.

"Let go of me!" she screeched. Her scream caused the room to echo. Suddenly she fell into a series of coughs, each one worsening after the other.

Her coughing was so intense that Erik had become frightened, and released his grip, leaving a red mark on her wrist, which would soon lead to bruises.

"See what you've done!" she said under her coughs. "You've made me ill! I'm sick because of you!"

Shaken, Erik fled the scene. "I have harmed her." He said in a discouraged tone. "My vow has been broken."


End file.
